


Bent as a Fish Hook

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Casual Sex, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In short, Mr. Warren enjoys cordial relationships with the police.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bent as a Fish Hook

When Sam was escorted from the office, looking so small flanked by two skinny birds in high heels who looked fit to have him for their supper, it was all Gene could do to turn away instead of admiring the view Sam provided on his way out the door.

Stephen Warren, on the other hand, did look. A lot.

‘My, my, Mr. Hunt,’ he purred as the door muffled shut. ‘You lucky man.’

‘Shut it, Warren.’

The laugh Warren chose for his answer – and Gene didn’t doubt that the laugh was as deliberate as anything about the man – was plum-rich but undeniably dirty. ‘Not so lucky after all, then.’ He tsked disingenuously. ‘Such a shame.’

Glowering quietly, Gene reached across the desk to borrow Warren’s guillotine cutter. ‘Not really,’ he lied breezily, snipping the end off his cigar with unnecessary brutality, letting the stray tobacco leaves litter the posh carpet beneath his chair. ‘Tyler’s a bit of a handful, in case you didn’t get that on the first read.’

‘Oh, I’m counting on him being more than a bit of a handful.’ Warren’s tone was predictably lascivious; on reflection, Gene couldn’t blame him in the slightest. ‘He wants me.’

‘He wants you nicked, if that’s what you mean.’

‘It’s all one and the same, Mr. Hunt.’ Warren smiled thinly. ‘Or have you forgotten how we came to this?’

The flame of the desk lighter leapt to meet the tip of his cigar, billowing smoke at the will of his breath, almost as though he had power after all. Gene carefully puffed that spark to a steady ember as he settled back in his seat, pointedly putting some more distance between Warren and himself, drawing air through tobacco until his long-abused throat burned.

‘He’s nothing like us,’ he said finally, the simplest way he knew how. Privately, he both admired and mourned Sam’s difference like religion, or death – something respectfully worshipped but never understood. All the girlish pet names in the world couldn’t settle Gene’s instincts on where the lad stuck his dick at night – and a lad as pretty as Sam had to be sticking it _somewhere_ \- and the not-knowing of it itched at him like fleas on a rutting dog. ‘I’d wager he doesn’t have a clue what’s going through your twisted little mind right now, and it’s probably best kept that way if you know what’s good for you. Bit of a uptight madam, is Tyler.’

His dismissive tone did nothing to throw Warren off the scent. ‘Come now,’ he laughed, leaning back in his chair, making his version of the move look more like an invitation, ‘don’t go trying to make that sound like a bad thing. We both know better.’

Gene pressed his lips tight together rather than confirm the truth. ‘He’s gonna fight you, y’know.’ He said it flatly, the only way he could, with neither protest nor pride allowed to break through the wall of dire fact. It was all he had left.

‘I look forward to it.’ A private smile curved Warren’s soft mouth. ‘I have a suspicion that he’ll look just as delicious on film as you do.’

Gene felt the blood of his body draining downward, leaving him sickened and cold. ‘Don’t give the skinny lad too much credit,’ he threw out brazenly, shaking off the sudden chill in his bones. ‘Besides, was a long time ago, not sure your clapped-out brain would be up to remembering well enough to compare.’

‘Oh, I don’t need to strain my memory that far.’ Eyes twinkling, Warren leaned sideways in his chair. Gene heard the slide of a desk drawer, the rustle of paper. ‘But in case you forgot… care to see them again for yourself?’

He produced a plain brown envelope, unremarkable enough though it struck Gene to deathly stillness.

‘I do enjoy having another look at these every now and then…’ One of Warren’s manicured fingertips teased open the envelope’s flap, revealing a glimpse of white-bordered photographic paper. ‘You were so remarkably… virile, once upon a time…’

Gene twitched, a weird little spasm of neck and shoulder that forced his gaze away. ‘Put ‘em away,’ he said, soft but sharp.

‘As you wish.’ The envelope vanished down behind the desk, and Gene relaxed, ever so slightly, just enough to look back to Warren as he straightened once more, a hint of playful anticipation still roving dangerously in his eye. Gene knew he could divert that intent, knew that a distraction was the best thing for all concerned.

Besides which, Gene couldn’t deny that the comment had stung his rather healthy ego. _Once upon a time,_ his bloody arse.

‘That all you’ve got going for yourself these days, Stephen?’ He studied his adversary over his cigar, assessed the heat crawling beneath his too-easy features as he drew in another mouthful of smoke. ‘A bunch of dirty pictures of my gorgeous self and your right hand for company?’

He slouched as he exhaled, deliberately splaying his legs wider apart in a pose of calculated laziness, knowing full well how easily it inflamed Warren’s fussy sensibilities. Sure enough, Gene clocked the flick of his pale eyes downward, the time it took that hungry gaze to work its way back up.

‘Are you offering an alternative, Mr. Hunt?’ Beneath the teasing confidence, a genuine note of surprise, even hope, lingered in Warren’s question. Gene smirked.

‘Might be.’

Gene squinted through the veil of smoke laid before him, watching cautiously as Warren rose to his feet and slowly circled the desk but Warren was never one for carrying his own weapons, preferring as ever to leave such risks to his minions. His own patrician presence was threat enough, and Gene repressed a shudder as soft fingers combed through his hair, pushed his head back and into a sloppy, too-large kiss.

He had always hated Warren’s fondness for snogging. Though Gene had long accepted what he was, to himself if very few others, no amount of whisky, no endless supply of fine cigars could ever make this bit feel anything but _wrong_.

All the same, he reached up with his free hand, caught hold of Warren’s ridiculous curls and rode out the slick rush of tongue plunging into his mouth until the weight of a knowing hand covering his stirring groin made him groan into the kiss. He pulled harder at Warren’s hair, wordlessly urging him on as those fingers groped him to full mast, and huffed out a satisfied breath when Warren moaned low with every savage tug. Breaking the kiss, Gene forced his head back and craned upward to bite down hard on the edge of his jaw, earning a low growl that set his blood racing with simple and ugly _need_.

No clever agenda came to Gene’s mind as he surged to his feet, knocking his chair over in his rush to pin Warren to the edge of his ostentatious desk. Quite simply, each was the other’s safest option for seeking this pleasure, this power wrapped in another man’s body so much more addictive than the frail rentboys down Canal Street, and even this was very far from safe.

And far from safe was exactly where Gene needed to be right now.

Cigar dropped forgotten in the spotless crystal desk ashtray, Gene fumbled at the hem of Warren’s polo neck jumper, testing warm skin with his fingertips on his way down to belt and trousers. His efforts were impeded by Warren shoving the armour of his coat off his shoulders and down his arms; with a frustrated snarl, Gene shoved back far enough to throw his camelhair away entirely, eyes narrowing as he swept up Warren’s disheveled shape lounging back against the desk. Warren raised a challenging eyebrow in return, casually palming over his own heavy bulge.

‘You still up for this, Chief Inspector?’ he taunted. ‘Or has the big bad sheriff got cold feet again?’

Gene licked sharply at his upper lip, tasted Warren’s saliva there. ‘Why is it I can only get you to call me by my proper title when you’ve got the horn for me? Hmn, Stephen?’ He grinned as he swaggered forward again, catching Warren with a finger hooked in his waistband. ‘Is it because you’re such a kinky bastard?’

Warren pushed forcibly forward at the slightest tug of Gene’s finger, bringing his hips up tight against Gene’s throbbing erection. ‘Even if I were,’ he purred, ‘it seems to be working for you just fine.’ He closed a large hand over Gene’s arse, grinding them slowly together. ‘Dirty, bent copper slut.’

The revulsion and arousal that took Gene at the hushed words left him wide open when Warren lunged in for another messy kiss. A quick tongue filled his mouth, so thick Gene swore he would choke on it; he bit down hard, held until he tasted blood and Warren squirmed against him. The twisted sense of triumph was so satisfying that he willingly sucked at Warren’s full lips as he pulled away. Warren’s mouth had gone decadently pink beneath his teeth, almost as pink as Tyler’s lips so often were, and he wondered – fleetingly, wrongly – whether snogging would be better if it were a man other than this one.

‘Turn around,’ he spat, gripping hard at Warren’s arm and spinning him to face the desk. Gene pressed himself tight to the other man’s back, cock jutting firm to Warren’s clothed arse as he reached around to wrestle with the complexities of an unseen belt buckle. Softer hands tangled with his own to make a faster job of it, and Gene groaned to finally feel the hard silken heat of another man within his grasp.

There wasn’t time for this to be anything but quick and dirty so Gene wasted no time, holding Warren firmly around the broad girth of his chest as his other hand worked his cock. He was never one for girly nuzzling or the like but from this close Gene was filled with the fresh soapy scent that mingled with Warren’s aftershave and it almost made him laugh that this man, no, this criminal was so bloody _clean_ but it also made him bury his nose at the juncture of Warren’s neck and shoulder. He only knew one other man who managed to smell like this, like fresh laundry and shampoo and warmth.

Warren arched against him, clearly appreciating the added attention. ‘Oh, yes…’ he sighed, tensing and relaxing into Gene’s hand. ‘Yes… nice to know you’ve still got a talent for this…’

‘Oh, shut up and take your handjob like a man, why don’t you,’ Gene snarled back, hating the intrusion of Warren’s cloying voice on the perfectly fine picture forming in his head and punishing him with a hard buck of his hips into Warren’s arse, his own greedy dick aching for touch. Perversely, predictably, Warren rode back into the pressure with a low chuckle.

‘I’ll take it gladly, if that’s all you’re offering.’ One of Warren’s sly hands reached back to close around Gene’s hip, goading on his thrusts. ‘It’ll do until I can get my hands on your pretty new Inspector.’

Gene shuddered, growling low in his throat. ‘Why the hell are you still talking?’ Not that it stopped him from pumping Warren faster, from rubbing the trapped length of his cock even faster against his arse.

‘Such a pretty lad…’ Warren continued, growing breathless with every stroke. ‘Pretty mouth on him, too, like he was made for sucking cock…’

A harsh bolt of heat shot through Gene’s belly, shook him straight down to his balls. Distantly, he heard the desk creak and shift beneath their combined weight.

‘He’d look _so good_ on his knees,’ Warren continued in a hoarse whisper.

 _Yeah, he would…_ That clean scent crawled down Gene’s throat, suffocating him.

‘And that sweet little arse… bet it’s as tight as it looks…’ The pitch of Warren’s voice was turning ragged with each convulsive twist of Gene’s hand. ‘Bet he’d fight like a feisty little bitch… nothing a good spanking won’t sort out…’

‘ _Fuck._ Oh– ahh…’ Mortification flooded Gene’s face with blood as he felt the liquid rush of orgasm hit him from _nowhere_ , but sure enough he was coming in his pants like a sodding teenager, humping Warren’s arse whilst thinking about another arse entirely.

This, he decided darkly in some fuzzy part of his mind, was all Tyler’s fault.

Depleted as he was, Gene sagged heavily against Warren’s back, unresisting as a soft hand covered his own limp fingers, forcing the aborted handjob along to its messy conclusion. Gene merely winced tiredly as Warren gasped and shuddered and spattered all over his fingers and wrist, further irritating the unclean sensation cooling and seeping around his softening dick.

Warren’s shoulder blades shook with a lazy chuckle against Gene’s heaving chest. ‘Do try to finish the job properly next time, won’t you?’

‘Piss off.’ Gene pushed away on unsteady legs, holding his right hand deliberately away from himself like something gone gangrene and awaiting amputation. With a sneer of distaste, he riffled a wrinkled handkerchief from his jacket pocket. ‘We done here?’

‘Almost.’ Humming softly to himself, Warren was taking his merry time tucking himself away, smoothing invisible creases from his trousers. In bitter retaliation, Gene threw his soiled handkerchief at Warren’s chair when he turned away to select a small page of notepaper from several laid across his blotter.

‘Some new lads in town been fencing stolen electronics on my patch.’ Warren held the note outward towards Gene with nasty little simper. ‘I figured you might want to look into that.’

‘Right.’ He pocketed the slip of paper without bothering to read it for names or addresses. Time for that later, he decided resentfully as he bent to collect his coat from the floor. He shook it free of invisible dirt and slung it one-handed over his shoulder; his blood was still running far too hot.

‘Don’t go forgetting your cigar, Mr. Hunt.’ Warren gestured to the ashtray where his cigar, scarcely smoked at all, smoldered patiently away from a crumbling point of ash. He stared at it for a moment, mouth twisting with a secret and sudden distaste.

‘Nah, you’re alright,’ Gene answered finally, straightening his tie. ‘Keep it. I’ve got a DI waiting for a dance downstairs and he’s none too fond of the smoke.’

The jealous glare he got in response to that parting shot was no doubt dangerous; but dangerous, Gene considered as he swaggered out the door, was how he had always liked it best.


End file.
